Inspection Duty
by Aliana
Summary: Starbuck and Boomer's inspection of the freighter _Nomad_ has unexpected consequences


THE INSPECTION DUTY  
by Aliana (originally written in 1980 (at age 17), or so, and modified just a bit)  
  
TIME: sometime between "Murder on the Rising Star" and "Baltar's Escape" (I guess)  
  
Based on the characters created by Glen A. Larson  
  
  
  
Inspection duty was a tedious but highly necessary task pulled by all Colonial warriors on a rotational basis. With 220 ships, as well as the fleet of vipers, transports, and shuttles, to maintain in peak condition, the number of qualified technicians and maintenance experts was stretched to the limit, and beyond. About thirty of the vessels, ones that were strictly passenger ships, carried a minimal crew. It was with this group that the Colonial warriors had to pull inspections tours, due to simply a lack of qualified specialists. So once a sectar or so, every warrior got to make the rounds of six or seven ships, his or her share of the inspection list.   
  
And while it was a vital function for keeping the fleet running smoothly, it was tedious, very tedious. Starbuck glanced wearily at Boomer as he check off the last item on the four-page electronic list used with all of the vessels. It had taken them nearly three centars to cover everything on this freighter, but the careful inspection had revealed three major concerns requiring repairs.  
  
Boomer let out a weary sigh. "Well, let's grab a quick bite for "dinner" and head over to the _Nomad_, so we can get this job over with."  
  
Starbuck gave his friend a bemused grin. "_Nomad_. Home of the Borellian Nomen. My favorite group of people. Tell me, how did we end up with that ship on our list?" The lieutenant remembered all too well his recent unpleasant encounter with two of the Nomen, when he had gotten in the way of their bloodhunt for Chameleon - and nearly lost his life in the process.  
  
"Thank the computer, Bucko." Boomer shook his head. "Yeah, I can imagine that they're not too fond of you, either, since Maga and Bora are on the prison barge. That bizarre code of theirs . . ." His voice trailed off.  
  
"Well, let's just do the inspection and get out of there as soon as possible."  
  
"Amen to that!"  
  
******  
The Code of Borella - it bonded all Nomen together and created a fierce loyalty. It also clashed with the standards of the other humans and had given rise to some bitter resentments. With the freedom the Nomen had enjoyed on their homeworld of Borella, it had been possible to live peacefully with the other tribes and even engage in successful business relations. But crammed into one rickety freighter, ruled and controlled by the fleet's necessarily strict regulations, the tolerance of the Code was being stretched to the limits and the breaking point was near, very near. . . at the precise moment lieutenants Boomer and Starbuck were taking off for the freighter, _Nomad_, a group of embittered Nomen were storming the ship's bridge, which was run by fleet-appointed personnel, using threats and powerful strength to finally take charge of their own destinies again.  
  
******  
  
"This is _Galactica_ shuttle requesting permission to land for inspections. Do you copy, _Nomad_?" Boomer frowned as he repeated the request for the third time. The static-filled silence was puzzling, and Boomer was about to report it to the Galactica when a voice suddenly announced, "_Galactica_ shuttle, cleared for landing."  
  
Starbuck shrugged. "Maybe they just dozed off for a while." An uneasy feeling, however, made his stomach tighten slightly as they made their approach to the landing bay. Boomer, too, felt his jaw clenching as he eased the shuttle onto the deck and switched off the power. A sixth sense was telling them both to be cautious.  
  
Grabbing the data pad checklist, the warriors moved to the shuttle exit. Starbuck's hand involuntarily hovered near his laser as the door hissed open, but they were greeted only by a quiet, empty bay. Starbuck let out the deep breath that he had been holding and started down the ramp, feeling slightly foolish for his fears. "Come on, Boomer!' he said. "Let's get this over with."  
  
The two warriors headed for the turbolift to report in with the ship's captain and to begin the inspection on the bridge. As they neared the lift, though, the doors slid open and five Nomen spilled out, their eyes blazing with rage, their fists clenching activated laser boles. Boomer and Starbuck dove for some nearby crates as the first of the laser boles whizzed perilously close to their heads and exploded behind them. The Nomen, too, took cover and aimed more boles at the crates where the warriors crouched, firing at their attackers. The explosion shattered the crates, the force of it sending the warriors sprawling, stunned, out into the open bay. Starbuck's laser was knocked from his hand as he fell, and it slid under the shuttle, out of reach.  
  
Boomer rolled to face the advancing Nomen, trying to clear his head enough to focus his weapon, but three of the murderously angry attackers, moving with amazing speed, descended on him. His laser was kicked free with the first blow; then Boomer was submerged in a barrage of pounding fists and feet, defenseless against their brute strength. Unconsciousness took over sweetly after the first centon.  
  
Starbuck did not fair any better. Seeing Boomer trapped and the remaining two Nomen advancing with lightening speed at him, the lieutenant scrambled backwards, desperately groping for some kind of weapon. His fingers closed around a discarded piece of pipe, and he swung it with all of his strength as the first of the Nomen dove for him. The pipe smashed into a shoulder, knocking the attacker to one side, but before Starbuck could make another move, the other Noman landed a viscous kick to his arm, jarring the pipe free and cracking the bone with a sickening snap. Starbuck cried out in agony and grabbed his arm. He did not see the second blow as the Noman's fist slammed into his temple, obliterating all consciousness.  
  
*****  
Commander Adama was awakened in the middle of his rest period by the emergency communicator signal. Instantly alert, he pressed the intercom button. "Tigh, what is it?"  
  
"Emergency on the freighter, _Nomad_," he answered curtly. "Apparent mutiny by the Nomen. I've ordered the fleet to a standstill."  
  
"I'll be there in a micron." Adama released the button, quickly dressed, and hurried out the door. Centons later, he was requesting a full report as he approached Colonel Tigh.  
  
"Sir, the Nomen have forcibly taken control of the _Nomad_ and are demanding enough fuel, food, and other supplies to get them back to that last planet we scanned. They say that they are tired of 'this military rule and oppression.' They also said they have two Colonial warriors as hostages, as well as the bridge crew."  
Adama frowned. "Is that true?"  
"I believe so. Boomer and Starbuck were on inspection duty and have not reported in. their last stop was the _Nomad_."  
Adama knew that the Nomen had no love for Colonial warriors and that in this agitated state, they were likely to do rash things. "Put me through to the _Nomad_," he said.  
  
After several attempts, the grizzled face of the Noman Chief appeared on the screen. He said gruffly, "You are ready to give us what we want?"  
  
"This is Commander Adama. We are ready to talk and will be perfectly reasonable. But why have you chosen violence to make your point? Why -"  
  
The chief, Tor, broke in. "You would not have listened any other way! Had we simply requested permission to leave the fleet, we would have been scorned!"  
  
Adama took a deep breath to keep his voice calm and business-like. "Sir, we would have seriously considered your request to colonize the planet. We are aware of the pressures your people have felt since we began this forced exodus. But the main problem is a *lack* of supplies. We do not have enough food or fuel to spare for any group to colonize - to have enough to survive until they could be self-sufficient."  
  
A deep growl rumbled in Tor's throat. "Lies," he stated flatly, coldly. "You will give us the supplies, or your Colonial warriors will die, slowly . . . mercilessly." Tor's eyes were cold steel. "A Noman's word is sacred. You have two centars to deliver the supplies, or the first Colonial warrior dies." The chief broke the connection.  
  
Apollo, Sheba, Athena, and several others had joined the commander at the monitor. All looked grim. Adama stood motionless for a moment, deep in thought, quickly considering the alternatives. Finally, he said, "There are 130 Borellian Nomen on that freighter, and all will support the mutiny because of their Code. We have had a difficult time respecting their beliefs and traditions, especially since the incident with Chameleon. This is just the sort of situation I had feared might occur but had hoped could be avoided with careful bargaining . . .Obviously, we underestimated the volatility of these people."   
  
He took a deep breath before continuing. "I feel it would be in the best interests of everyone if the Nomen were permitted to break from the fleet and colonize on their own. The only obstacle is our shortage of supplies . . . I propose that we spare what we can safely spare. The Nomen can more easily adapt and are experts at survival. I think they will accept this offer if they believe we are sincere about it."  
The group around Adama nodded, feeling helpless and frustrated, but questions sill remained. Apollo asked, "But what of Starbuck and Boomer and the technicians?"  
Adama turned a grave face to his son. "We can only hope the Nomen will accept our offer and spare their lives. Any other way would be much more disastrous. We do not have the manpower or supplies to fight 130 raging Nomen without countless lives being lost."  
  
*****  
  
"Starbuck . . ." The words were faint, fuzzy, dreamy. "Starbuck!" A certain urgency penetrated the deep haze, stirring his consciousness. He moaned and opened his eyes, squinting at the indiscernible form that swam into view. When he tried to move, however, a sharp, blinding pain shot through his right arm, and he froze, inhaling quickly. He was lying on his stomach, and the form in front of him focused finally into Boomer kneeling next to him. Shifting his eyes, squinting, he could see the lieutenant's face, and he noticed that it was bruised and swollen. "Hey, Boom . . ." he said weakly. "What happened to you . . . you look awful."  
  
Boomer winced. His own head was none too clear, and he felt like he had fired from the launch tube without his ship. He had awakened about 20 centons earlier, but had not made it upright until only a few moments ago. Starbuck had been lying sprawled on his stomach, about a metron from him. His friend did not appear to be as battered as he felt, but he had been deeply unconscious and very difficult to wake.   
"Starbuck," Boomer whispered, moaning. "Remember? The inspection of the _Nomad_ . . . the angry Nomen . . ."  
  
"Oh, yeah . . ." Starbuck tried again to move but was stopped once more by the searing pain. He said weakly, "Boomer, what's going on? Where are we?"  
  
The lieutenant gave a deep sigh. "I don't know what's going on, but we are in, apparently, a small cargo hold. And except for us, the room is completely bare. At least, they had the decency to leave the light on for us . . ." Boomer frowned at Starbuck. "Hey, are you okay? Can you move? You were out cold for quite a while."  
  
Starbuck's face creased. "My right arm seems to be broken, and it lets me know that every time I try to move. How 'bout you?"  
  
"Nothing broken, I think. Just battered and sore." Boomer put a hand on his friend's back, thinking for a moment. "Let me try to help you up so we can look at that arm," he said finally.  
The injured limb was folded beneath the lieutenant. Boomer put his hands under Starbuck's shoulders and lifted slowly, ignoring the agonized cry, knowing that he had to continue. Supporting the arm as much as he could, he said, "Just concentrate on something else - say, Cassiopeia - okay?" he said as he rolled him onto his back.   
  
Starbuck, eyes clenched shut, breathing raggedly and feeling queasy, lay quietly moaning for several centons before the pain subsided a bit. Eventually, he opened his eyes to look up at Boomer.   
  
"Can you move your fingers?" his friend asked.  
  
"Not without excruciating pain . . ." Starbuck smiled faintly, cradling his arm. "If I remember correctly, one of the Nomen kicked me right near elbow with his steel-plated boot. I think he shattered a few things."  
  
Boomer quietly considered the situation for a moment. Then, removing his flight jacket, he skillfully made a sling from it. After a few more centons of blinding pain, Starbuck had his arm supported enough that he could sit up, propped against the wall, without his head spinning from the agony.  
  
"Just what do you think is going on?" he asked Boomer.  
  
Boomer gave him a depressed look. "I wish I knew . . ." Climbing slowly to his feet, his knees still a little shaky, Boomer walked over to probe at the door, only to find it sealed tight, locked from the outside. He shook his head at Starbuck, who was looking much stronger now that the pain had eased, and said in resignation, "Well, we're stuck here until someone lets us out. Maybe the Nomen'll finally decide to fill us in on the big mystery . . ."  
  
*****  
  
"Well, Commander?" Tor's rugged face growled into the viewscreen. "Do you have our supplies? Your time is about up."  
  
Adama kept his face impassive and his voice calm. Behind him, Tigh, Apollo, Sheba, Athena, and Cassiopeia looked on with anticipation and worry on their faces. Adam said, "Yes, we do. We agree that you should be given the freedom to colonize the planet designated Planet Epsilon. We have gathered up what supplies we can safely spare. However, I would like to know what you have done with our warriors and the technicians. When do you intend to release them?"  
  
Tor looked confident, more relaxed; his stony face reflected a sense of success. "We accept the supplies you offer. We are not without compassion and do not wish to jeopardize innocent lives." Somehow, Adama thought, this comment did not seem to apply to anyone in the Colonial Service. Tor continued, "However, we do not have complete faith in you or your promises." His voice grew more menacing. "We will release the technicians and your warriors when we have reached the planet Epsilon. They will return to your fleet in the shuttle craft. This is to insure no treachery from you. Are the conditions clear?" Tor's stony face glared at Adama.  
  
Adama stifled a growl of his own and said, "Sir, we would have no reason - and nothing to gain - from deceiving you. We respectfully request that you release the captives now. Then you will be free from all contact with the Colonial fleet."  
  
"Not acceptable." Tor flashed the faintest of evil grins.  
  
"What assurances can you give us that the hostages will be released unharmed?"  
  
"Nomen do not harm the innocent. You know that our Code is sacred, as is our word. The captives will not be harmed and will be permitted to return to the fleet once we have safely landed on Epsilon. Tor glowered at Adama. "If you refuse our terms, we have decided to use explosives to destroy this freighter, sacrificing ourselves *and* our captives. What is your response?"  
  
Adama turned his back to the viewscreen to allow him to consult the others. All of the faces were looked grim and anxious. "Well, we have little choice but to accept, since we have already determined that a rescue is out of the question. Nomen also do not bluff. They *will* blow up that ship if we do not agree." Everyone nodded their silent agreement.  
  
Adama turned to face Tor. "All right," he answered. "We will accept your terms. But first, before we deliver the fuel and supplies to you, let us speak with the Colonial warriors. We have no proof that they are even alive."  
  
Tor growled, "It is done." Adama saw him motion to others. "We will expect our supplies within thirty centons after you have been assured that your warriors are alive." The viewscreen went blank.  
  
Apollo, feeling helpless, started to protest, "Father, we can't just -"  
  
Adama cut him off. "Captain, at this moment, we have no other choice. There are 130 Nomen aboard that ship who will willingly sacrifice themselves, if they do not get their way. This way, at least, the hostages have a chance - if we can trust Tor. I see no alternative."  
  
*********  
  
Starbuck was still sitting, back against the wall, his arm resting somewhat comfortably in the makeshift sling, while Boomer paced impatiently back and forth in front of him, when the door hissed open. Boomer froze in his tracks, and both men gazed expectantly at the entrance. A tall Noman, wrapped in furs and tattered cloths, his rough face hidden by his long, scraggly hair and grizzled beard, stepped through and waved his laser at the captives. "Come," he growled. Behind him, waiting patiently and impassively in the hallway, were two more Nomen, lasers resting easily at their sides.  
  
Starbuck and Boomer quickly took in the situation and realized the foolishness of any resistance; the collection of bruises each had was reminder enough. With a hand from Boomer, Starbuck climbed to his feet, and the warriors walked slowly out the door, followed by the silent Noman. The two escorts took up positions on either side, guiding them down the long corridor.  
  
Glancing at the tall, grizzled Noman on his right, Starbuck decided to try a little conversation. "Say, would you mind explaining what exactly is going on here? We came over to inspect for repairs, not invade you guys." When the Noman ignored him, Starbuck continued, "I don't think the commander will take too kindly to violence and kidnapping."  
  
This time the guard growled, "Silence!" and emphasized his command by shoving the lieutenant forward. Starbuck winced as the jolt sent a wave of pain coursing through his arm and decided to give it up for now; Boomer gave his friend a look that warned caution.  
  
After several centons, the silent group emerged onto the bridge of the freighter. Boomer and Starbuck took note of the anxious faces of the technicians; some of them were sitting at their stations, while others were standing together, guarded by two glowering Nomen. A small cluster of Nomen were standing expectantly in front of the communications console. When they were within a metron or so of this group, the guards put a hand on their shoulders to signal them to stop.  
  
Starbuck was about to risk another comment, when one of the Nomen, obviously the leader from just the way he moved, turned an icy stare at them. His eyes radiated a hatred that the two warriors could almost physically feel. He said in a cold voice, "We have commandeered this ship to take us to the planet Epsilon, where we may be free of the restrictions and humiliating circumstances we have been forced to endure under the Colonial rule. You warriors and these technicians are our prisoners until we have been given the supplies we need and have safely landed on Epsilon. Your commander wishes to speak with you before he complies with our demands. So, talk!"  
  
With the last remark, Tor motioned to one of his companions, who signaled the Galactica. Adama's face appeared on the screen, and Tor turned to face it. "Here are your warriors. I give you twenty microns."  
  
As he moved aside, Boomer and Starbuck were pushed forward into the viewer's range. "Commander, what's --"   
  
"Starbuck," Adama interrupted, "Are you both all right?"  
  
"More or less. What --"  
  
Adama did not let him finish. "We have no choice but to go along with the Nomen. They have said that they will destroy the freighter, if we do not, but they assure us that you and all the technicians will be released --"  
  
Tor cut off the commander by having Boomer and Starbuck pulled back out of the viewer's range and imposing his own face on the screen. "You now have thirty centons to deliver our fuel and supplies, or we kill your warriors. Remember -- to us, death is preferable than remaining under these conditions. Do not fail your people. They will be released once we have landed on the planet Epsilon."  
  
The chief broke the connection without giving Adama a chance to respond, and turned to the lieutenants. "A Noman lives by his Code of Honor. Though we may despise all Colonial warriors as being the instruments of our humiliation, all of you will be permitted to return to this fleet after we reach Epsilon. Until then," Tor said, his voice still icy, the hatred still evident, "you two will be confined in the cargo hold. And," he added with apparent sarcasm, "we regret any discomfort we may have caused you."  
  
Tor was about to order them taken away when a thought struck him. Looking closely at the warriors, he asked, "What are your names?"  
  
Puzzled by this sudden interest in them, Boomer and Starbuck hesitated, glancing at each other. Their guards gave each a jab in the ribs with their lasers, and Boomer answered cautiously, "Lieutenant Boomer."  
  
Tor turned his gaze to Starbuck, and the guard gave the warrior another jab. Wincing, he answered, "Lieutenant Starbuck."  
  
Tor stared at him in sudden recognition, his brow wrinkling. Then a slow smile spread across his face, a look that sent shivers down Starbuck's back. The Noman took a step closer to him and said in a low voice, the evil smile still touching his lips, "'Starbuck,' that name is familiar to us. You are the companion of the man, Chameleon, who betrayed us, and it is because of you that Maga and Bora, my brother, failed in their bloodhunt and are now locked away like animals in your prison barge. I have spoken with Bora, and he explained how you helped the traitor." Tor paused a moment, giving Starbuck the benefit of a gaze that held pure hatred. "It was rumored that he is your father . . ." His voice trailed off.  
  
Starbuck stood silently, meeting his stare, not bothering to explain that he had not even known about the bloodhunt or that Chameleon was not actually his father; only Cassiopeia and Chameleon himself knew it was, indeed, the truth. Finally, Tor growled, "Return them to the cargo hold!" With a few unnecessary shoves, Boomer and Starbuck were led back to their cell to await the next step in this unpleasant drama.  
  
*****  
  
Alone once again in their small, bare room, Boomer and Starbuck tried to take stalk of their situation. Both sat wearily on the floor, feeling tired, battered, and sore; the cold, hard walls provided little comfort for their bruised bodies. Starbuck's arm had taken on a dull, persistent throbbing that made any sort of relaxation impossible.   
  
"Well," Boomer said with a sigh, "at least, we know what what's going on."  
  
"Yeah, but now what?" Starbuck wondered. "We're stuck here until they let us out, and even if we could escape, how could we fight a hundred Nomen when we couldn't even handle five? I suppose we could try to overpower the guard and try to get back to the shuttle . . ."  
  
Boomer gave his friend an incredulous look. "Bucko, you are in no condition to overpower *anyone,* let alone a Borellian Noman. And besides, we have to consider the technicians, too. Trying something like that might put their lives in danger, even by the remote chance we were successful."  
  
Starbuck sighed. "You're right, of course. I guess we just wait and hope for the best, whatever that might be." He shuddered involuntarily. "I did not like the way the chief smiled when he recognized my name."  
  
Boomer's face became serious. "No, neither did I. He promises we will all be released, but I don't trust him."  
  
Starbuck closed his eyes, trying to will away some of the pain. "How long will it take to reach Epsilon, assuming we leave in the next thirty centons?"  
  
Boomer thought for a moment, then said, "Considering this piece of junk's top speed, probably at least six centars."  
  
"Wonderful!"  
  
*****  
The faces around the conference table were all grim. Adama paced silently, giving each a chance to consider the present situation and to ask questions. Colonel Tigh, Apollo, Sheba, Athena, and several others had been discussing and reevaluating their options, and had reached the same conclusion: there was not much they could do. Finally, Adama said, "Final recommendation?"  
  
Apollo shook his head, feeling the stress and the frustration. "The Nomen started on their course for the planet Epsilon ten centons ago. About the only thing we can do is to launch a patrol to follow just outside their scanner range, and then play it by ear. We would have just enough fuel to get to Epsilon and back if we fly at the freighter's speed without turbos."  
  
Adama looked from one worried face to another. "Any other comments?" Everyone either shook their head or just stared silently. "All right, then. Apollo, you, Sheba, and Jolly launch as soon as you are ready. And I don't need to remind you to stay out of scanner range and do nothing to jeopardize the captives."  
  
*******  
  
The floor felt cold and even harder than before. The lieutenant inhaled deeply and climbed to his feet, cradling his injured arm and moving slowly. Boomer could read the pain in his friend's face as Starbuck leaned against the wall, eyes closed, breathing in concentrated breaths. Boomer had finally settled on the floor after giving up on the fruitless pacing. Five centars had passed since they had felt the engines rumble to life and felt the freighter shift its course for what they knew to be the planet Epsilon. They had not seen or heard from the Nomen since being returned to the cargo hold, not even to be offered a simple drink. Boomer could feel a dryness building in his throat, and the thought of a glass of cool water kept taunting his mind. Echoing these thoughts, Starbuck opened his eyes and mumbled, "I sure could go for a nice, cold ambrosia about now . . ."  
  
"Yeah, me too." Boomer stood stiffly and moved next to his friend, concerned. "Starbuck, maybe I'd better take a look at that arm," he said quietly. "It's obviously not getting any better. I've had some med tech training, so maybe I can find a better way to support it until we get back to the _Galactica_."  
  
Starbuck looked doubtful but nodded. Boomer carefully removed the arm from the sling, supporting it with both of his hands. Starbuck's hand looked a purplish red and puffy from the swelling, and the arm itself was obviously swollen. "Bucko, I need to get your arm out of the sleeve to see what's going on. Since we don't have a knife or anything to cut with, this isn't going to be easy. I'm going to bring your shirt over your head first, then try to ease the arm out. Sound okay?"  
  
"Sounds wonderful," Starbuck answered weakly, dreading the next few moments. He bit down on his lower lip as Boomer brought his shirt up and over his head, until it was draped over his shoulders. Bracing the injured limb as well as he could, Boomer pulled the left sleeve down and off, then gently and slowly slipped the shirt off of his right arm. As he finished, Starbuck slid back down the wall, feeling woozy, to rest on the floor again.  
  
Boomer shook his head in sympathy as he studied the injury; the arm was swollen from above the elbow to the fingers, looking all sorts of unpleasant colors. Just below the elbow on the inside, the broken bone bulged against the skin, amid the ghastly bruising.  
  
Starbuck looked sick. "Are you okay?" Boomer asked.  
  
"Just looking at it makes it throb!" he answered.  
  
"Okay, just hang in there. Let me see what I can do." Boomer helped his friend to cradle the injured arm, then examined Starbuck's shirt. Using shear strength, he was able to tear the uniform top into strips. Working carefully, he fashioned a more secure sling that cushioned the broken bone, while holding his arm secure against his chest. When he finished, he sat back and gave his friend a moment to relax. "How's that?" he asked finally.  
  
Starbuck gave a weak smile. "Better, I think. Actually, it feels sort of numb now. I think I'll live." He looked briefly into Boomer's dark eyes. "Thanks, buddy."  
  
As he spoke the last phrase, the ship gave a shudder, and they felt the gravitational field adjust adjusting. They had entered the planet's atmosphere and were making their descent. "Well," Boomer muttered, "we'll soon find out what these guys have planned for us."  
  
About thirty centons later, they felt the freighter come to an abrupt, bouncing halt, and the engines cut off. Several centons later, the cargo hold door hissed open, and two grizzled Nomen, a laser pointed at each warrior, motioned for them to exit. Parting to let them past, the guards prodded the lieutenants with their lasers, directing them down the corridor. Although the Noman had silently gazed at the makeshift bandage and sling that Starbuck wore beneath his flight jacket, which was draped over his right shoulder, he had no compunctions about shoving the lieutenant roughly to encourage his progress. "Hey!" Starbuck finally protested, "I can walk without your help." Predictably, the Noman shoved even harder, and Starbuck bit his lip to keep from making any further comments.  
  
This time, they were led through an airlock to an exit ramp and down to the surface of Epsilon, a barren, dry, windswept planet. Already sand drifts were forming against the freighter; given time, it would be buried forever. The wind whipped their faces as they descended into the sand and approached a group of Nomen, who were guarding the ship's technicians. In front of them stood Tor, his long hair blowing in the wind, his furs and clothing flapping. "This will be our new home," he said, spreading his arms out as if to embrace the planet. He turned his gaze to the two warriors. "This may seem inhospitable to you, but compared to the confines of the fleet, this desert world will be a paradise." Tor looked pleased.  
  
The guards brought them to a stop close to their chief. Starbuck, squinting through the blowing sand, said in a voice loud enough to be heard above the wind, "Since you have your new home, may we leave?"  
  
Tor gave him a nasty grin, but answered, "yes, lieutenant. All captives shall be permitted to leave in a few centons." he paused, and Boomer and Starbuck waited for the "punchline." They knew it would not be that simple, and their fears were quickly confirmed.   
  
Tor stepped so close that Starbuck could feel his hot breath, and said, "All shall be freed, but you. You have been found guilty of violating the Code by assisting the traitor, Chameleon, and for your crime, you must pay the price."  
  
Tor raised an arm, and two Nomen grabbed Starbuck by the shoulders. Two more also tightly gripped Boomer as he struggled to move to his friend. Starbuck felt the sharp pain as his injured arm was jarred but kept his face impassive, meeting the chief's stare. "You have a choice," Tor growled, the raw hatred boiling in his eyes. "You may fight for your freedom or forfeit your life right now."  
  
*****  
  
Apollo, Jolly, and Sheba had followed the freighter to its destination. By tracking it with their long-range scanners and remaining outside of the ship's more limited range, they were able to land, undetected, behind a rocky ridge not far from the desert spot where the freighter had landed. Working their way up the ridge, keeping low, the warriors eased up to the top and peered over cautiously. below, they could see the freighter, already partially buried by the blowing sand, and a group of people standing in front of it. Squinting hard, they could make out about twelve technicians, standing grouped together and guarded by six or so armed Nomen. Off to the side of that group was a smaller group of about five Nomen, and in the middle of this cluster, they could see the dark flight jackets of Boomer and Starbuck. From the side of the freighter, they could see the rest of the Nomen removing supplies and hauling their cargo to an alcove located in the rocky ridge several hundred metrons to the left of where the warriors were hiding.  
  
Sheba edged next to Apollo and whispered, "Can you tell what's going on down there?"  
  
Apollo shook his head. "We're too far away to be sure, but it doesn't look good. If they intend to release the captives, why do they have everyone grouped and guarded like that? We have to get closer . . ."  
  
Jolly whispered, "We have to be extra careful not to be seen; those Nomen are very perceptive, almost like wild animals."  
  
Apollo nodded his silent agreement and motioned for Sheba and Jolly to follow him. Staying low, they worked their way cautiously down the ridge, keeping well hidden behind the rocks and scattered bushes. Crawling the last hundred metrons on their stomachs, the three warrior managed to move up behind some boulders where they could faintly hear the voices. Catching quick glimpses between the crevices, Apollo could see the chieftain, Tor, confronting Starbuck; he was just barely able to hear the conversation, and he felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach when Tor announced their intentions. Sheba and Jolly could not hear clearly from where they were, so Apollo crawled next to them and whispered, "They're in trouble! I was just able to make out Tor's words, and he said that Starbuck has to fight for his freedom - or be executed."  
  
"Apollo, what are we going to do?" Sheba asked, alarmed.  
  
The captain looked tense. "I don't know," he whispered. "We're outnumbered, and at the moment, they've got all of the captives pretty well surrounded. If we start shooting now, everyone is likely to end up getting killed. We'll have to wait for some kind of chance."  
  
"Let's hope it comes soon!" Jolly said.  
  
*****  
  
"Well, Warrior?" Tor gazed at Starbuck, arms crossed across his chest, chin jutting arrogantly forward. "Do you choose to die courageously or be slaughtered like an ovis?"  
  
Starbuck met the Noman's challenging stare. "Do I really have a choice? Tell me, do you honestly intend to release my friend and all the ship's crew, or are they next on your execution list?"  
  
Tor rumbled in what seemed like laughter at the lieutenant's defiance. "As I have said, we do not kill the innocent. We have no grievance against the crew or even your Colonial friend." He glanced at Boomer, who's eyes and the tense set to his jaw reflected his apprehension. Tor continued, "They will be permitted to return to the fleet once your fate has been determined."  
  
Starbuck took a deep breath. "All right. Who -"  
  
"Wait!" Boomer interrupted. Tor turned his gaze back to the lieutenant as the warrior pulled in desperation against the two Nomen's grip. "You can't seriously expect him to fight? What kind of odds are those - A Noman against an injured man?"  
  
"His other choice is simple execution." Tor considered Boomer for a moment, then said, "Unless you are willing to take your friend's place."  
  
Starbuck turned towards Boomer before he could answer and shouted quickly, "No! I can't let you do that!"  
  
"Starbuck, you don't stand a chance in Hades against a Noman. I'd rather take the risk than see you -"  
  
"No, Boomer!" Starbuck felt the fear and desperation shattering his controlled exterior. "Don't risk your life, too. I couldn't live with that."  
  
Tor laughed. "You won't have to - if he loses, you die ,too!" The chief was clearly enjoying his victims' anxiety.  
  
Boomer said in determination, staring Tor in the eyes and ignoring his friend's protests, "I'll do it!"  
  
"It is settled, then. I challenge the lieutenant Boomer to fight for his comrade's life - in a duel to the death."  
  
"I accept," Boomer answered gravely.  
  
Starbuck felt a helpless desperation, a feeling he rarely experienced. In an attempt to delay the apparently inevitable, he shouted, "Wait a centon!"  
  
Tor turned to Starbuck with a sneer on his lips. "What is it?"  
  
Starbuck willed the fear out of his voice to regain his control, and let his anger through, instead. "If you are serious about releasing the others, someone needs to remove the shuttle from the freighter *now*. By the time we finish this - this challenge, the landing bay may be too far buried in the sand!"  
  
Tor glanced at the freighter, watching briefly as the sand swirled around it, slowly enveloping it, and made a quick decision. "All right," he growled. He motioned to the guards surrounding the technicians. "Have the pilot remove the shuttle craft and leave it near the rocks to protect it." He said the last two words with obvious sarcasm, glaring at the lieutenant.  
  
One of the Nomen led the pilot back to the freighter. A short time later, they heard the engines pulse to life, and in a flurry of sand, it emerged from the landing bay, coasted over to the rocky ridge, and eased back down to the ground. The engines shut down, and after a few moments, the pilot and Noman reappeared from the shuttle, tramping back through the sand to rejoin the group of technicians.  
  
Boomer, Starbuck, and the Nomen had silently watched the brief flight; now, Tor gazed darkly at the warriors for a centon, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Then the sinister grin spread across his lips, and he gave a signal to his cohorts. Gripping Boomer by his arms, his two guards half led, half dragged him away from the group. Tor followed slowly, his eyes beginning to burn with anticipation. When he was within a few metrons of the lieutenant, he made another signal, a quick snap of his wrist, and the two Nomen released the warrior.  
  
"Now," Tor growled, his breathing growing deep and controlled, "I shall fight for the honor of my brother, Bora. And when I have finished with you," He turned his stare from Boomer towards Starbuck, who was being held tightly by his guards as he pulled against their grip, "I shall take great pleasure in performing your execution."  
  
As Boomer and the Noman chief began a slow circle, facing each other, Starbuck could plainly read the mixture of fear and determination on his friend's face. It was offset, however, by the bloodthirsty, nearly insane look that had enveloped Tor. He was preparing for battle, working up the adrenaline that gave the Nomen their inhuman strength. Boomer was about to take on a madman, Starbuck realized. He tried to reassure himself that Boomer was an expert fighter, adept in the arts of several different forms of combat, and could - just possibly - defeat the chief through skill, speed, and agility. But Starbuck could barely contain the desperation he was feeling as he watched the Noman clench and unclench his fists, preparing to attack. Involuntarily, he pulled against the grip of the two Nomen guards held on his arms and was rewarded with a fierce jerk and sharp blow to the stomach. Starbuck gasped for breath and willed himself to relax. Only by remaining in control would he have any hope at all of helping Boomer.  
  
Boomer was concentrating, concentrating only on the imminent fight, fueling his determination with anger over the whole situation and the senselessness of this absurd challenge. And then Tor lunged for him. Boomer dodged swiftly and intercepted the Noman with an expertly placed kick. The blow would have felled an average human; Tor was barely slowed and spun around with surprising speed, catching Boomer in the stomach with a powerful kick of his own. The warrior's eyes bulged and he doubled over, but when Tor attempted to continue with a viscous chop to his neck, Boomer dove for the Noman's legs, knocking him down and somehow rolling free from him.   
  
And the two continued to fight with neither gaining a clear advantage, but Starbuck could see that Boomer was beginning to tire, while Tor appeared even more energetic and crazed. Already Boomer was beginning to take more and more of a beating; already Tor could sense his impending victory.  
  
Starbuck had to act now, if he was going to do anything at all. Since he had stopped struggling, he had felt the grips of his guards relax as they intently watched the fight, seeming to forget their captive for the moment. The other Nomen around the technicians, too, seemed more concerned with the fight than with their charges. Most of the technicians were also watching with varying expressions of horror and anxiety, but a few were staring at Starbuck to see if he were going to react. Starbuck caught the eye of the pilot, who seemed to sense that something was about to happen and nodded slightly, indicating his readiness.  
  
Starbuck had no plan; he simply let all his pent up frustration and desperation explode. With a violent twist, he broke the Nomens' relaxed hold and before they could react, ran madly towards Tor, who was aware only of his opponent. At that same instant, the pilot gave a loud shout and tackled the nearest guard. It took the other technicians only a micron to realize what was happening. They were able to overwhelm the five Nomen, who were slowed by their surprise and absorption in the fight.  
  
Tor had knocked a stunned Boomer to the ground and was about to pounce, when Starbuck barreled into him, sending him sprawling. Boomer managed to roll clear, climbing shakily to his feet as he watched, in amazement, Starbuck pounding the Noman's head with a rage that matched Tor's crazed state. The Noman, however, quickly shifted his fury to his new opponent and knocked Starbuck off by wrenching his broken arm out of its sling. The sudden, searing pain left the warrior gasping and unable to move. Tor rolled to his feet, getting ready for the kill.  
  
Behind this struggle, the technicians had subdued the guards by taking their lasers and stunning them, but the hoard of Nomen who had been tending the supplies, alerted to the trouble, were bearing down on them, about to turn the odds drastically against the captives.  
  
Just as Tor was about to direct a viscous kick to Starbuck's head, Boomer leaped at him from behind, grabbing him around the throat. The Noman lashed out with his elbows and fists to break the hold, but Boomer locked his arm tight, squeezing with all of his strength. Unexpectedly, Tor threw himself backwards, landing squarely on his opponent and breaking his hold. Boomer was momentarily stunned, all of his breath knocked out. Starbuck, too, was still too groggy from the pain to move. Tor rolled to his feet again, glaring murderously at his fallen opponents, and preparing to finish Boomer with a crashing kick from his steel-pointed boots. One blow to the head would be all he would need. Starbuck, fighting the blinding pain in his arm, tried to get up, but could not; all he could do was watch in horror.  
  
All at once, from out of nowhere it seemed, a viper zoomed down on the angry mob of Nomen as they approached the technicians. It blasted the ground in front of them, and sent them scattering. Surprised but still able to react, the technicians quickly sprinted for the shuttle, firing the lasers while the viper continued to swoop down at the Nomen. At that same instant, Tor suddenly screamed, tensing in pain, then falling, stunned, on top of Boomer. At first, Starbuck thought that one of the technicians must have shot him, but then he saw the figures of Apollo and Sheba running towards him from the direction of the rocks. Boomer had recovered, pulling himself from under the heavy weight of the unconscious Tor. He let out a loud, "whoop!" when he saw them.  
  
"Boomer! Starbuck!" Apollo called as he and Sheba struggled through the sand towards them. "Get to the shuttle quickly!"  
  
Boomer realized that some of the Nomen, out of the viper's range, were bearing down on them. "Come on!" he shouted as he grabbed Starbuck by his good arm, dragging him to his feet, supporting him. Running, stumbling, they headed for the shuttle while Apollo and Sheba held back the Nomen and headed back towards the rocks. Through all the confusion and laser fire, Boomer and Starbuck finally made it to the shuttle and were practically dragged on board by the technicians as the engines roared to life. Seeing that everyone had made it safely aboard the shuttle, Apollo and Sheba turned and scrambled back up the ridge towards their vipers. In only a few centons, both the shuttle and the two vipers were airborne, speeding rapidly away to leave the Nomen to their desert paradise. Jolly broke off his attacks as soon as Apollo and Sheba had lifted off, and he took up a position beside the shuttle.  
  
Once clear of the planet's atmosphere, Apollo signaled the shuttle to transmit the coordinates back to the fleet and to check on the status of everyone. He felt an immense relief when he heard Boomer's voice coming through his comline. "Everyone is okay," he reported. "No casualties."  
  
"That's great!" Apollo answered. "How are you and Starbuck? We saw most of what happened."  
  
"Well, I'm sore, bruised, and battered, but otherwise fine." His voice sounded a little more serious. "Starbuck had his arm broken when we were first captured, and he's had kind of a rough time. He passed out after we got aboard the shuttle, but he should be okay once we finally get back to the _Galactica_."  
  
"All right, Boomer," Apollo acknowledged. He knew everyone must be weary from the ordeal of the past ten centars. "Let's get home, then!"  
  
*****  
  
Starbuck opened his eyes slowly, reluctantly, not wanting to give up the blissful sleep he had been enjoying for what seemed like days. The long centars of cold cargo holds and murderous Nomen seemed like a distant nightmare. Eventually, he let the real world drift back in and looked up to see the familiarly beautiful face of Cassiopeia gazing down at him.  
  
"Time to wake up," she said pleasantly.  
  
Still groggy, Starbuck glanced around him, finally realizing he was in the Life Station. Adama, Apollo, Sheba, Jolly, and Boomer were gathered at the end of his bed, and he gave them a weak, confused smile. "How long have I been out?" he asked Cassiopeia.  
  
"We've had you under sedation for a day to give you a chance to rest up and mend. You do remember what happened, don't you?"  
  
Starbuck looked down at his right arm, which was wrapped in a soft, supportive bandage and cradled in a sling, and groaned. "Yeah, I remember. All but the last part - that's a bit fuzzy." He looked at Boomer. "Hey, how're you?"  
  
"Me? I'm great," Boomer grinned, "thanks to your help. You know, when you attacked that Noman, you looked wilder than he did."  
  
Starbuck smiled. "Well, I felt pretty crazed, actually. By the way, I'd like to thank the cavalry. That's the part I'm a bit fuzzy on - where did you guys come from?"  
  
Apollo briefly explained, then said, "I had just given the signal for Jolly to make the viper runs when you broke free from your guards." He grinned at Starbuck. "Your move triggered the technicians and created just the right diversion."  
  
The lieutenant looked down at his sling, mumbling, "Yeah, well, I didn't really plan it that way. But thanks, guys." Looking back to Cassiopeia, he asked, "So when can I get out of here?"  
  
"You'll be released from here probably later today. Your arm will have to stay wrapped and immobile for about a secton, though" she answered. "We fused the bone with the lasers and repaired a lot of the tissue damage, but it was a real mess!" It should be as good as new by the end of the secton with a few more treatments, though."  
  
Adama, who had been silent until now, said with a sly grin, "Good! Then you and Boomer can start the next round of inspections!" Starbuck just groaned.  



End file.
